


Learning to Make Fire

by stellahibernis



Series: Living Instead of Just Surviving [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Introspection, M/M, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), how do you live when all you’ve ever known to do is survive, mentions of /others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellahibernis/pseuds/stellahibernis
Summary: This Sunday Bucky leads Steve along the street to a direction that’s less familiar to him. Soon Steve stops consciously tracking their progress and just lets Bucky lead. There are people out, even if it’s still fairly early for a Sunday, and not for the first time Steve thinks Bucky fits in the way Steve never manages.


  It’s not the kind of trained invisibility that the Winter Soldier had and Bucky still can do, because people do notice Bucky. It’s just that they register that he’s an attractive man to glance with appreciation as they pass. Bucky with his slim jeans and a scarf and scruff looks like a lot of other people here, and yet stands out, the same way he used to stand out at dance halls before the war.


  People look at Steve too, but it’s not the same kind of easy appreciation. Steve doesn’t know what it is about him, if it’s just the fact that his face is so universally familiar, or if it’s something about how he moves and stands.

***
About the difference between living and surviving, and looking at someone you've always known with fresh eyes only to find something you never even knew you were searching for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is set a few years after CACW, when everyone has had time to remember that they're all friends, where no one is a fugitive and where the Accords have been amended into something truly functional.
> 
> The title is from [Habitation](https://readalittlepoetry.wordpress.com/2011/01/07/habitation-by-margaret-atwood/) by Margaret Atwood, which is basically what Steve and Bucky here are all about.

 

They’re back from putting out another crisis, and everyone’s shuffling around weary and sluggish. Everything is back to normal, and they’ve filed the paperwork to the committee keeping track on all the official superhuman forces, be they Avengers or whoever. Nothing left to do but recover, and the team all files toward their quarters.

Steve is standing next to Bucky, both of them changed out of their field gear. Steve’s is up in the Tower armory with the exception of his shield that’s with him as usual, and Bucky’s gear is in the duffel bag dropped in the corner of the elevator. His rifles are stowed away in the quinjet, but Steve has no doubt he still has several guns on him, concealed on his person and more in the bag.

They’re the only two in the elevator, the short trip to Steve’s floor only lasting seconds. Doors open, Steve steps out and Bucky stays leaning to the back wall as he always does when they’ve finished the mission. 

“We still on for tomorrow?” Steve asks, turning to look back.

Bucky nods and the elevator doors close, leaving Steve alone to go into his apartment and Bucky to make his way across the city back to his own place. It’s a familiar routine by now.

Steve leaves the shield leaning to his nightstand, strips out of his clothes and heads for shower. He’s already had one, but it was a miserable quick one with barely lukewarm water, and he doesn’t feel clean at all, the dust and grime and sweat from battle still clinging to his skin. He washes his hair and soaps himself all over, and then stands under the hot water that never runs out until his fingertips are shriveled.

In the kitchen he heats up the Chinese that had just arrived and he’d barely started when the call for them came two days earlier, and makes space at the table for himself to eat among his notes and maps that he uses to keep track on their process to find HYDRA. While he eats he checks his email, gratified that there’s nothing else official besides the note that the whole team has filed all required documents pertaining the mission. All good then, Steve hates having to pester people about filing their paperwork.

As he’s rinsing and folding the empty containers for recycling after the meal his phone chimes with a text alert from Nat. It’s for the whole team, and all it says is a name of a bar a couple of blocks away. They go there frequently, often after a mission to wind down, and it’s a miracle that it hasn’t become a tourist trap because of them. Many places have. 

Because of the fascination toward superheroes, Steve tends to avoid the block where their old building used to stand in Brooklyn. There are always people looking at the plaque declaring it the site of the last Brooklyn residence of Captain America, even if he wasn’t Captain America then. No one seems to care, and his own name is nowhere to be seen. People take selfies in front of the commemoration, which is to be expected, and doesn’t rattle him. What really weirds Steve out, though, are the flowers and candles that appear there every anniversary of him putting the Valkyrie in the ice.

He closes the text app and heads back to his bedroom, waving all the lights off as he goes. He gets in bed wearing the sweats and t-shirt he ate in, and settles on his ludicrously large mattress, between the sheets with the highest thread count he’s ever seen. It’s still early, but he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

Eight hours later Steve is up and clearheaded, heading for his regular morning run. It’s early enough that even on Manhattan streets are nearly deserted, which is pretty much the only time he can start a proper run from the Tower without having to fear crashing into people all the time. He loops Central Park three times before the sun is up and other early runners start trickling in.   
He walks back, the streets more crowded now, and picks up a coffee and a sandwich from a diner that looks like nothing much but where the food is excellent.

By the time he’s showered and dressed it’s time to head out to Bucky’s. He takes a book with him to read on the train.

***

Steve gets out of the train at Beverly Road and walks the couple of blocks to Bucky’s building. There’s no elevator, and he takes the steps leisurely since he’s a bit early. Bucky lives on the top floor, with an easy access to the roof via the fire escape. 

He’s just started climbing when a door opens. He can tell by the echo it’s Bucky’s, and then there’s a sound of someone starting down the stairs. Steve steps on the instinct to holler a greeting, since it’s not polite to yell in the hallways, especially on Sunday mornings. He just pauses to wait. 

It’s only then he realizes it’s not Bucky coming towards him, because the cadence of the steps is all wrong.

Steve starts up again feeling his brows knitting, because who would be coming from Bucky’s at this time of morning. He’s fairly sure it’s not some HYDRA goon or equivalent, because then the morning peace of the building would have been shattered already. No one would be able to sneak up on Bucky.

He tries to avoid looking too obviously when he passes the man coming down the stairs. He’s younger than them, or younger than their apparent age anyway, late twenties probably, handsome, dressed in the casually fashionable way that Steve recognized but couldn’t replicate. His hair is a mess of leftover product from the night before.

And probably because someone’s hands have been in it.

Steve keeps climbing, slower now that the three remaining flights feel all too short for him to recover from the curveball he’s just been dealt.

He knows Bucky goes out with the team more often than Steve does after missions, but he hasn’t really thought about what else happens on those nights. He also had no idea that Bucky would be interested in men as well as women. He climbs slower and slower, closing in on Bucky’s door, knowing he has to decide how he feels about it before knocking. 

And honestly, he doesn’t really have to think. It is a complicated feeling, for reasons that he firmly shoves back before he can even think about them. He can’t let them in, not now that he’s about to spend time with Bucky. Underneath all the complications though, the core of it is actually happiness. Steve can’t deny he’s been worried all this time, even after Bucky got the triggers sorted out, even after he was declared not guilty and was allowed to join the team officially. He’s been worried about the lasting effects of the seven decades under HYDRA, and here he is now, with a more concrete proof than ever that Bucky is living a full life, doing things men their age normally do. He’s able to get out there interact with people. It’s a good thing.

Steve takes the last flight two steps at a time and knocks on Bucky’s door. It opens only a second later, as if Bucky was waiting for him. He probably was, since the group of people unable to surprise Bucky certainly does include Steve.

Bucky greets him as usual, but there’s an unmistakable hint of defiance in his eyes, as if asking Steve what he’s going to do about it. Bucky must know he saw the man coming down, and it happened probably only because Steve was early. 

Steve steps in as he always does and just asks, “Did you go out with the team, or just by yourself?”

Bucky smiles then, clearly understanding how Steve means it, that it’s all okay. “Yeah. It was only Sam and Natalia, though.”

“Ah. Are they any closer to stopping circling around each other and just going for it or not?”

“Hard to say. Looked about the same to me. There’s coffee if you want, I’m going to get dressed so we can go.”

Bucky’s only wearing jeans and a tank top, bare feet. While he ducks into his bedroom, Steve wanders into the kitchen, but decides he doesn’t want more coffee yet. There are two mugs in the sink.

In the living room he picks up Bucky’s book that’s lying on the couch, reads the back cover, and then puts it down again, careful to not let the bookmark slip out. He likes Bucky’s apartment, it’s spacious and comfortable, and it thoroughly feels like Bucky’s place. There’s nothing visible that would suggest the resident is an Avenger. No files, no plans or maps. No weapons, although Steve’s fairly sure there’s a fair amount of those, only not readily visible. It’s not like Steve’s apartment, where it’s very clear at a glance what he does.

Bucky comes out of his bedroom, shrugging his gray coat on, a scarf loosely looped around his neck, hair pulled back in a bun. “Ready when you are.”

***

Every other Sunday they go for a brunch together, just the two of them. Only exception is if they are on a mission, and if that happens they always go the next day after coming back. They try all kinds of different places, from food carts to fancy restaurants, and although they call it a brunch, it can be pretty much anything. Once all they had was frozen yogurt, dozens of different flavors.

They alternate on who gets to choose where they go, and as a rule the one choosing ends up paying the bill. More than once they’ve been mistaken as a couple on a date, although only when Steve doesn’t get recognized. Every time it happens Bucky with his perfect poker face confirms it, and then proceeds to say something outrageously flirtatious to Steve, who inevitably cracks up and the pretense is gone. Steve loves those moments, when Bucky is just so perfectly carefree, messing around with a private joke that’s all theirs.

It also always feels like Steve’s heart is too tight and full, because for a long time he believed he could never have this again.

This Sunday it’s Bucky’s turn to choose, and he leads Steve along the street to a direction that’s less familiar to him. Soon Steve stops consciously tracking their progress and just lets Bucky lead, taking long and easy strides next to him. There are people out, even if it’s still fairly early for a Sunday, and not for the first time Steve thinks Bucky fits in the way Steve never manages.

And it’s not the kind of trained invisibility that the Winter Soldier had and Bucky still can do, that keeps him hidden until it is time for action and makes it feel like he appears and disappears like a ghost. Sometimes Steve thinks it’s almost a second nature to Bucky these days, but it’s not what happens here in the city.

Because people do notice Bucky, and it’s not because he’s an Avenger or even for his prosthesis, it’s just that they register that he’s an attractive man to glance with appreciation as they pass. Bucky with his slim jeans and a scarf and scruff looks like a lot of other people here, and yet stands out, the same way he used to stand out at dance halls before the war.

People look at Steve too, but it’s not the same kind of easy appreciation. There are maybe moments of it, but then they tend to double take, to make sure they saw what they think they saw. And often it even starts like that, from the first glance people seem to be puzzling; what’s the deal with him, they recognize him as something to figure out. Steve doesn’t know what it is about him, if it’s just the fact that his face is so universally familiar, or if it’s something about how he moves and stands, or a combination of these. He doesn’t know, and he can’t help but poking at the question.

It’s the reason he’s never managed to move back to Brooklyn. He contemplated on doing it when he moved back to New York after Insight, but it never happened. Instead he got tangled in Avengers and everything else. And now, when he still doesn’t feel at ease in his own skin, he’s stopped even thinking about it. He’d probably end up gaining a lot of unwanted attention too, have paparazzi camped on his doorstep or something. It happens these days too, but it doesn’t feel so invasive when it’s the Tower.

Staying at the Tower has other benefits too; he’s always there ready to go, and he also thinks it’s helped strengthen his and Tony’s relationship back to something lasting, a show of trust. When Steve moved in Tony offered Bucky a place to stay a well; a gesture speaking more than words, but Bucky declined. There’s been no hard feelings though, and Steve thinks Tony too understands the need to be independent. And looking at Bucky here in Brooklyn, Steve knows it’s absolutely the right choice. Every moment he sees Bucky is another reminder that despite all, he has carved a place for himself and is really living, here and now.

Steve on the other hand still doesn’t quite manage it.

He’s shaken out of his thoughts by Bucky’s hand on his forearm, guiding him to a tiny diner. Bucky smiles and shrugs at him, obviously aware that Steve was lost in thoughts for a while.

The diner serves a good selection of fairly traditional breakfast items. They order enough for about eight regular people, not really dividing between them what belongs to whom, and just eat from every plate together. Everything is simple but delicious and filling. 

They talk about all kinds of things, everything but Avenging. They talk about the books they’ve read, their friends, the movies they’ve caught. Just the regular things. They don’t talk about the morning either, not until they’re almost done and drinking their coffee.

Bucky finally breaks and says, “So ask already, I know you want to.”

Steve hums. “I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like there’s much to ask. Or is there?”

“You tell me. I know you dragged your heels up the stairs back there. So clearly there is something.”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve rubs his temples. “I was surprised, you know. You’ve never even hinted you’d be interested in men, so. But that was it. I mean, I know you’re okay, so I guess, keep going as you are since it works. And I’m glad you are doing fine.” 

Steve looks at Bucky squarely in the eye, wanting to communicate that he truly is happy for Bucky.

Bucky smiles, quick and easy, and it’s his turn to say, “Yeah okay.”

“I mean, if you’ve got someone you’re serious about and have been hiding them, then I’m going to be mad,” Steve adds and Bucky laughs, low and amused.

“No, no one like that. You’re the only one I’ve got a standing date with.”

Bucky concentrates on the rest of his coffee, and Steve does the same, feeling heat upon his cheeks, fairly sure that Bucky should be able to tell.

***

The feeling at the back of his head grows during the train ride. Steve still manages to read on the Q-train, relaxed after the hours spent in Bucky’s company, but when he switches to 6 toward north, he can’t get immersed into his book again. There’s plenty of space, and he’s got a seat in the corner of the car, but he can’t get comfortable. It feels like eyes are on him, and he has to fight himself to avoid looking up to see whether the other people in the car are trying to figure out if he is who they think he is.

At least he’s left alone most of the time on subway if he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

He’s lost in his own head, keeping track of the progress so he’ll step out on the right stop. Grand Central is busy, because it always is, but at least on Sundays weaving through the crowd is easier. He goes through the private entrance at the side of the Tower instead of the main lobby, and feels the jitters grow as he rides the elevator up.

It finally explodes in his head when he’s inside the apartment. The complicated mess of happiness mixed with inadequacy, on top of it all the single question; why. He shrugs off his jacket and goes to his couch, letting himself tip onto it, resting on the pillows, lying down more than sitting. There’s a laptop on the coffee table on top of more maps, with a hard copy of the Sokovia Accords and their subsequent amendments. There’s his work, taking over every flat surface, not just his office.

The contrast between his and Bucky’s apartments suddenly feels drastic. Besides no evidence of work anywhere, everything in Bucky’s apartment is chosen by him. In Steve’s, everything is as he likes, but it’s not due to him, just a very good guess by some interior designer. There’s everything he needs to get by, everything he needs to be comfortable, and Steve hasn’t really thought about changing anything. There is a sketchbook and pencils on the corner of the table, and that’s the only strictly personal thing in sight.

Steve sighs, and rubs his eyes.

Despite everything he’s been through, Bucky has made a space for himself in the future, a space that looks like him. And he’s carved it larger, found a way to fit here, within the city and among the people. He’s thrown himself in it and is swimming while Steve still feels like he’s sinking. Why can’t he make a place for himself here, despite far less trauma and a longer time to adjust? Why is he still leaning on Avenging like it’s a crutch, the only thing keeping him upright?

He remembers looking at Bucky, being conscious of how he is truly living, and wonders if he himself is living now. Or if it’s just surviving, even when he has nothing holding him back.

***

The next few days are odd; Steve feels like he’s hyper aware of everything, as if he’s looking at everything he does from the outside, looking at how everyone else lives. He works, he reads, he sketches, sometimes in his own rooms, sometimes in the common area. He trains, he talks to his team, he goes out to eat. It feels like there should be something else, but he doesn’t know what it is. His world feels narrow, even when he habitually talks to people from all corners of the world.

It arrives to him the next Saturday; he wakes up and the realization is there, clear and shattering. He’s been struggling in finding a way to live in the future, but suddenly he isn’t sure if he knew how to do it before either.

Childhood doesn’t count, because life then, with a lighter load of responsibilities, is something else. But what about when he grew up, how did he used to live? Now he thinks that perhaps he was already just surviving then too. 

There was the poverty, never enough money or food. There was his mother’s illness, the one that weakened her until it took her. There was his own illness, all the different ways his body tried to betray him. Back then he’d worked all he could, as much as his body had allowed him to just to survive, and even then he barely had. In truth, he wouldn’t have if there hadn’t been Bucky. They’d gone out sometimes for fun, but even then it had felt like going through motions, because having to struggle with constant pain on one level or another put a damper on things. He just hadn’t had energy left.

Then there’d been the war, and everything had been about survival ten times more. 

Now he’s got everything he ever thought he needed; health and money and time, a chance to do whatever he wants, and he doesn’t know what it is. He’s got friends that he loves to spend time with, but too often the only place where it’s easy is the battlefield, or home. Going out is an entirely different matter.

Bucky unsurprisingly is an exception, but then everything always was easy with Bucky. Now Steve feels vaguely ashamed, because it feels like he’s still leaning on Bucky, even when everything is fine. When  _ he _ should be fine.

Steve spends the day quietly, and in the evening Wanda and Nat wander in. They watch 80’s action movies together, laughing at the flamboyance. In a funny way the both of them too are kind of out of touch, same as Steve. Wanda grew up practically in a war zone where she didn’t have an opportunity to catch everything. Nat, on the other hand, has seen pretty much all relevant things, with her handlers making sure that she had all necessary cultural knowledge to blend in. It means she didn’t get to watch or read anything for pleasure, but because she was required to do so.

They’re not as lost as Steve, though. Wanda is still a bit younger than either of them and is finding ways to gain her space easily enough, and Nat has long time ago accepted she’s not like everyone else, and has found a way to live like that. Steve is the only one still floundering around.

On Sunday, even if it’s not one of his and Bucky’s days for brunch, Steve takes the train to Brooklyn. It’s the first time since before he moved to DC he’s come there for something other than Bucky. He gets out at Prospect Park and then wanders until he finds a quiet place to sit leaning on a tree and sketch.

It’s a warm day considering it’s very definitely fall by calendar, and Steve sheds his jacket before continuing to draw what he sees around him. Before the war even art felt like it was more about surviving than living. Sometimes it felt like it was the only thing that helped him to breathe, to endure, to forget, or to say something when he didn’t have words. After he woke up in 2012, drawing became remembering. He never really has done this, sitting down and drawing just because. 

Maybe this is a start, a path to carving his own place here.

He’s been sitting there for a couple of hours when a shadow falls on the page and he looks up. Bucky is smiling down on him, hair pulled back and a bag slung around his shoulder. He’s got two large wrapped sandwiches in his hand.

“Had lunch already?”

Steve shakes his head and Bucky sits down, handing one of the sandwiches to him. It’s a Reuben, which Steve likes but Bucky definitely doesn’t. His seems to have turkey in it.

“And you just happened to have a sandwich you definitely weren’t going to eat with you on a walk in the park.”

“I might have seen you first and then made a detour at deli,” Bucky says and digs in. Steve follows suit.

They talk about their week while they eat, even if they saw each other every day for training. There’s nothing special, but it’s easy as ever. After eating Bucky pulls out a book and Steve continues drawing. Their shoulders brush every once in a while. Some time later Steve becomes aware that Bucky isn’t reading though, but looking at his page.

When Bucky sees Steve’s questioning look, he asks, “Do you do this often? Draw in a park, or?”

“First time. Thought I’d try it on.”

“Seems like a good fit,” Bucky just says, and continues reading.

***

Steve noticed a long time ago that in the here and now a lot of people measure whether you have a life based on your sex life. A lot of the time they frame it as dating or relationships when talking to him, but he knows it’s the same thing they mean. It also makes him slightly irritated when some people still seem to think he’s going to faint away at the thought of casual sex.

About a year after he woke up in that fake recovery room, Nat had started suggesting him potential partners. He knows now, even if he back then hadn’t really thought about it, that he hadn’t been in a good place then. He’d been in mourning, still hung up on the life he had in the forties, and he’s not sure he could have gotten out of it if it hadn’t been for his friends, mostly Nat and Peggy, and later Sam.

Also Bucky not being dead had been a jolt go get him going, but that had come with a whole another load of baggage.

During that first year there had been people that expressed interest in him, and for a long time Steve had thought it was that he was still in love with Peggy that was stopping him from feeling any interest at all toward them. Only, after the first shock of seeing her old and frail had worn down and time had passed, the love Steve had for her had changed its shape.

After a while adjusting, when he’d found himself able to actually think about it, he’d found his love for Peggy no longer was the kind that made his skin tingle and feel too tight. It no longer made him be constantly aware of her as he had been during the war whenever they were near each other. Now in the future it had become easy and comfortable, a warmth in his heart, and it had stopped hurting to think of her having moved on. It hadn’t meant he loved her any less; he had loved her until the last day of her life, and he still does. There is a part of his heart that will always belong to her.

Of course it had pained him when the Alzheimer’s had truly started to affect Peggy right about when Steve had been able to settle into the new way of loving her. Watching the slow descent had been hard, every time she forgot him was a new barb in his heart. Still, he is grateful to have had her for the four years she lived after he came back, because she was one of the few people that ever truly understood him. What they had was so much more than a romance, even if that had been there too.

Coming to the realization about how his love for Peggy had changed had taken around a year too, and maybe Nat had actually seen the change in him, because it was only after that she’d started suggesting dates. In retrospect it seemed likely.

Steve even had taken Nat’s advice on occasion, realizing that maybe he should at least try to find someone new, but it had never really lead anywhere. He just hadn’t felt interested at all. And later there’d been Sharon, and all the complications that came with her. Truth is, he liked her, and still does, but it hadn’t worked between them, not when they tried. They are friends now, and it’s much better. They work well together, and she’s found a boyfriend that Steve gets along well too. 

Before the serum  he hadn’t been that interested in sex, not really. There’d been a sort of wistful longing for companionship, partly motivated by the fact that he knew that at some point Bucky would find someone to settle down with, and then Steve would be more alone, but that had been it. He’d sometimes wondered about it, but he’d figured it was due to all his ailments. He had barely had enough energy to survive, there was nothing left for anything else.

He met Peggy during the basic, and it had been different with her. How could it not be, when she was one of the few people ever to look at him and see him instead of just dismissing him due to his frailness.

After the serum women had looked at him, and it had felt good, but in retrospect that hadn’t been about wanting them. It had been about validation, about wanting to feel it was real, that now he was appreciated. It was the same reason he’d decided to take up Senator Brandt’s offer too. Thinking of it now, he kind of wants to be ashamed how much it all was about his ego, but he also knows to let go. They once skirted around the topic with Peggy, on one of her clearer days a few months before Insight, and Steve knows exactly how she’d look at him if she was there to hear his thoughts.

After he started to take Nat’s advice about dating, a little bit anyway, he noticed right away that despite now having energy to spare and no ailments whatsoever, it still didn’t lead anywhere, and that it wasn’t just about being hung up on Peggy. He felt no deep connection to anyone he met, and when Nat suggested that it didn’t have to be serious, all he could think was he didn’t see the point. He didn’t want to touch someone, didn’t want to be intimate with someone if there was nothing else in it. 

He hadn’t known how to explain it to her, and instead he’d googled it, because he tends to google everything. It sometimes surprises people when he mentions it, and he always feels exasperated about the surprise. Learning to how to use Google, or internet in general, hadn’t been hard. What is difficult is knowing what to look for in the first place. 

It had been a trek through about a hundred different sites, but he had learned a lot about modern terminology about sexuality, as well as how it is recognized that it doesn’t manifest in the same way in everyone, and that it doesn’t mean someone is abnormal. He’d come out with lot of new vocabulary, some of which he tentatively does apply to himself. And it is a relief, to know that it’s not odd to not be interested in sex with just about anyone willing, but a very select group of people. That sexual interest only comes with emotional connection. Knowing it helps, even when he doesn’t really want to get into it and explain everyone how it is to him.

***

One evening after making the discovery that maybe he needs to make more effort in finding a life for himself he’s in Nat’s apartment, just hanging out with her and Sam. They had a brief mission that day; early wake up and ten hours of hectic scrambling around, but everything ended up fine, even if Steve thinks that if he ever sees genetically modified alligators again it will be too soon.

They’re all wearing comfortable clothes, resting and trying to avoid aggravating their bruises. Or Nat and Sam are, Steve’s have mostly healed enough that they’re now yellowish blotches on his skin and don’t hurt. None of them felt like going out earlier, and hence they ended up here with Nat’s stash of vodka. Steve knows Sam will have a terrible hangover in the morning.

He’s sitting in the middle of the couch, mostly for self defense, because if Sam and Nat were sitting next to each other he’d probably end up feeling like a third wheel. To their credit, they’re mostly aware of it, and usually the sitting arrangement comes naturally, the two of them always making space between them for Steve. Steve isn’t quite sure what the deal between them is, how close they are and where they’re headed, but he figures it’s not his business, since they seem to be comfortable with it and it doesn’t interfere with the work.

It’s been a few hours, there are containers of Vietnamese take-out strewn on the table in front of them, and Sam and Nat are definitely feeling the the buzz from the vodka. Steve can’t get drunk, but he’s still feeling almost as if he was, somehow the comfortable atmosphere causing him to feel the buzz by proxy. Sam is explaining something about his wings and Steve is only half listening. Nat probably isn’t any better; she’s got her feet on Steve’s lap, and Steve is rubbing her soles. She’s leaning back to the cushions, looking content.

As he usually does, Bucky disappeared right after they touched down to head back to Brooklyn. Steve wonders if he’s gone out as he tends to do after missions, and whether he’s found someone to bring back home already or if he’s still looking.

With the uncanny ability of timing that she has, that’s the moment Nat decides to suggest Steve should try and get out there again. That he should try finding someone, maybe not even meant to be anything serious, just a good time. Sam forgets his wings and agrees from the other side. 

Steve’s hands still on her feet as he’s trying to find what to say, and maybe it’s the comfortable atmosphere, maybe it’s the new determination to carve a place for himself, something that looks like his. Whatever it is, he ends up not deflecting, but telling them.

“I don’t think that’s for me,” he says, and then explains, halting and probably blushing, because the heat on his cheeks certainly isn’t caused by the alcohol.

Nat and Sam listen, and it’s probably the main reason Steve has become as close to them as he has; that even though they mercilessly rib him at times, they know when to stop and be serious. They know how to listen. They get it. 

Steve ends up explaining how it can be complicated, when you can’t really do casual, have no interest in it, but how getting into a relationship sometimes feels like even a greater hurdle. These days it feels like everyone looks at him as a superhero, as Captain America first, and think they know all about him already. It usually kills any desire Steve has to get to know them to begin with.

And he has friends, he has companionship, he always has someone to talk to about anything and everything he needs to. It doesn’t feel like he’s missing anything when it comes to relationships. Finding someone to become a permanent part of his life feels like too much of chore. And he can get off by himself just fine, without the hassle of deciding whether he trusts someone enough to let them that close. He doesn’t say that last bit, he’s not that much drunk by proxy.

A few hours later Steve wanders back to his rooms, and it occurs to him that this was exactly the kind of thing he used to, and still does, talk with Bucky. Yet now Sam and Nat are the ones that know. He also doesn’t feel inclined at all to talk to Bucky about it. It’s not that he thinks Bucky wouldn’t understand, it just doesn’t feel like something he wants to do share.

***

Truth is, Steve knows exactly why he doesn’t want to talk to Bucky about what and who and how he wants. 

Truth is, Steve already knows the answer to all those questions, and a lot of them are Bucky. What he doesn’t know is whether it’s at all likely that he could get what he wants, either now or later, and it paralyzes him.

It’s a relatively new thing, this kind of wanting, and Steve doesn’t quite know why. Maybe it’s that Bucky is the same as he was before the war and isn’t. Maybe it’s that Steve is the same and isn’t. Maybe it’s that they grew up together, closer than most friends, closer than most brothers, and back then it didn’t even occur to Steve to want Bucky in any other way. Not until he’d lost Bucky and gotten him back through pain and blood and suffering.

When things had quieted down, when there wasn’t a desperate rush anymore just to survive, just to make sure this world didn’t explode right under them, they’d had to figure out their relationship anew. Some things came back, others didn’t. Some things were completely new. They settled in, found a way to meet and come apart and come together again, found a way to fit their new selves together again.

And at some point it had just happened, this new kind of wanting in Steve. He’d suddenly realized it on one of their regular brunches, but he doesn’t know how it started. He isn’t sure whether it was born just like that, or if it budded and blossomed, unnoticed until the yearning was in full bloom.

Now it is the truth that Steve lives with, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

He’s spent hours, usually late at night when he can’t sleep, wondering if there is a chance that Bucky feels the same way, or even could at some point. He doesn’t think it would ruin their friendship, certainly not permanently, if Bucky found out, but he wonders if it would eliminate the chance of it ever happening. So he hasn’t even contemplated on telling Bucky.

There’s also the fact that he doesn’t know in general terms what Bucky wants. So far, as he’s settled in better and better, Bucky hasn’t shown even an inkling of want for anything more permanent than meeting someone for one night. Steve can’t do that, won’t.

And Bucky always has been the most permanent thing in Steve’s life, even after he learned how easy it is to lose things that were never supposed to disappear. Bucky came back, and he is still here now, guarding Steve’s back on the field, texting him about random ridiculous things, and sitting across tiny tables in diners where they sample every breakfast dish they offer. If the only way to permanently have Bucky is as a friend and nothing else, then Steve will take it. He’ll always take it.

***

It was bound to happen sooner rather than later, something that meant they’d have to talk. It was always like that between them, and still is, familiar and inevitable.

They’re out, most of the team for a change at a same place, and some of the other patrons of the bar seem a little bug-eyed when they realize what’s going on. Honestly Steve is a little surprised that the bar hasn’t suddenly flooded full, maybe people are keeping their tweeting to minimum. It happens sometimes when they’re out, hanging like anyone. The people that end up meeting them sometimes treat it like a secret, a special thing not to be shared with the whole world. At least not until the next morning, when all the sneak photos are on every tabloid site.

Steve gets recognized by half the patrons at least, and some people come talk to him because of it, but it’s all easy and nice. Sometimes being recognized as he’s out on personal time irritates him, because it’s about his image and not him, but this night he finds he doesn’t mind. He ends up talking to a graduate student who’s majored both in history and art history, and she asks him about his own art studies, about how serious it was and if he’s continued. She’s polite and not at all trying to pry things about Steve’s personal life. It’s a very enjoyable half an hour, and Steve ends up giving her his email so that she can get a proper quote for her thesis, not just bar talk, before she thanks him and goes back to her girlfriend.

After that Steve gravitates back to their group, listens for a while Scott and Clint talk about their children, and later sits with Wanda and Nat who’ve commandeered a bartender for themselves and have him mix them gradually more complicated drinks while answering questions about mixology. It is fairly fascinating, and Steve is sure that by the end of the night Nat could go and pretend to be a professional bartender if she didn’t have that skill yet.

He manages to not look around for Bucky too much, because even if he’s happy that Bucky’s gotten back to his feet, Steve isn’t particularly keen on seeing him flirt with other people, definitely not keen on seeing Bucky leave with them. He remembers the same thing from dance halls on the few occasions Bucky dragged him there with him; seeing Bucky talk to girls and twirl them around. Back then Steve had interpreted the wistful bitterness as knowing that when Bucky found someone they’d inevitably grow less close. Now he isn’t that sure that was all there was to it.

Steve is making his way back from the bathroom when a metal hand grabs his wrist, and Bucky is there, wearing a t-shirt and not at all trying to conceal left his arm. There are a few loose tendrils of hair stuck to his cheek and Steve has to curl his hand into a fist to keep himself from doing what he wants and brushing them back behind Bucky’s ear.

“So what happened to that cute brunette, you seemed to be getting along well earlier?” Bucky asks.

It takes Steve a moment longer than it should to parse together what he means, because for all that he hasn’t been keeping an eye on Bucky, he’s reeling a bit to find that apparently Bucky has done so for him. Not to mention, it’s clear what Bucky expects.

“Oh, no, it wasn’t like that. She’s an art history student, working on her thesis. She’ll probably email me about a quote. And she has a girlfriend too,” Steve explains all in a rush.

“Well, if so,” Bucky starts and Steve suddenly doesn’t want to hear the end of it. “Then you could come with me, I think I know someone that would be interested in meeting you.”

Bucky tilts his head a bit to his right, and over his shoulder Steve sees two women, one of them looking at him with the kind of starry eyes that means he’s been recognized, and this time it’s mixed with a very bare intent. It’s familiar in a way, Bucky managing to find someone for him too, even if this is not a trip to a fair but something else entirely. It’s familiar, and truth be told it’s the last thing Steve wants.

There must be something showing on his face, because Bucky’s brows knit, as he clearly sees Steve’s reluctance. 

“I think I’ll pass,” Steve says, even if he knows Bucky’s already figured out what he’s going to say.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Bucky says, his voice so gentle that Steve can’t take it, and he knows they need to talk about it, and soon.

“That’s not me,” Steve says, and watches the momentary flash of confusion on Bucky’s face. He continues, “Listen, I’ll explain, but not right now. This is not the place.”

Steve leaves then, deciding there’s no point in sticking around. On the way home he tries to not think about the woman who hadn’t looked at him, no doubt because she’d already had her eyes on Bucky. He tries, and fails, to not think about her dark hair and lithe form, and then think back to the man he’d seen coming from Bucky’s a few weeks earlier. He too had been dark haired and slim. 

The only conclusion he has is that Bucky has a type, and it’s nothing like him.

***

It’s raining the next day, and Steve tucks his sketchbook and pencils into a bag and heads to the Met. He’s in as soon as the doors open and wanders to the galleries housing European sculptures. He finds a bench and then draws what he sees, figuring out how the anatomy of the human figures is accurate and how not. There’s a steady trickle of people around him, but no one bothers him.

He’s doing the final shadings on a centaur when someone sits next to him, and he doesn’t even have to look up to know it’s Bucky.

“You keep showing up when I’m drawing, I’m starting to think you’re stalking me,” Steve says, and is actually surprised by how light it comes considering how they separated the night before.

A grin breaks on Bucky’s face, wiping away the hint of anxiety. “Well, if you’re going to draw, it’s raining so you can’t be outside. That helps narrowing it down. And I know you.”

Steve feels all warm about Bucky’s frank admission, such a contrast to all those times he insisted he didn’t know Steve. “Or you just went to Tower and asked Friday.”

“Caught me,” Bucky easily admits. He’s quiet for a bit, but then clearly decides to wade right in. “So, what was it yesterday? What is not you?”

So it’s now that Steve has to explain, partly anyway. No need for Bucky to know all of it. He thinks for a moment, trying to decide how to say it, and finally chooses the most direct route he can think of.

“You know what demisexuality means?”

Bucky’s brows knit again. “Yeah I —” he pauses, and then his eyes widen. “Oh. I see.” He reflects for a moment more, and adds, “I guess it makes sense.”

“Yeah, a lot in retrospect,” Steve admits.

“Did Natalia help you figure out, or?”

“Nope, I googled it.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I bet there are a lot of people that would have an aneurysm at the concept of you finding out the modern terminology on sexuality by googling it.”

“And I’m not even sure which would be likelier to cause it, the act of googling or the topic,” Steve adds, settling against the wall, tension bleeding out. It’s easier than he thought it would be.

“I’m sorry about Peggy,” Bucky suddenly says, and Steve is thrown a little by the sudden change of direction. “I know how much she meant to you, I wish you could have had that.”

Steve feels both warm since Bucky cares so much, and a bit cold since they are skirting now way too close to what he’s not ready to have Bucky know. And true enough, Bucky makes it even trickier for him.

“Do you ever think, I don’t know, trying to find someone then?”

Steve settles on a deflection. “Well, it’s a bit complicated. I mean, Nat keeps suggesting people to me, but usually they look at me like they already know me, and. You know.”

“And you’ve never taken well to people thinking they know all about you at a glance, especially since it mostly isn’t true,” Bucky voices Steve’s thought perfectly.

“Yeah,” Steve admits, and then, because he figures he can ask now he’s answered, voices his own curiosity. “What about you?”

“What about me? You mean, am I looking to settle down?”

Steve just shrugs, leaving it open.

Bucky draws a breath, looks into the air in front of him. “I guess not. I mean, sometimes after a mission the easiest way to get back to  _ me, _ how I want to be when I’m not fighting, is being with another person. Because when you just concentrate on touching and how it feels, it’s easier to let go, to not think about all we do on the field. Easier to get back to the head space I need in the city. Because when I’m fighting, these days it’s not the same anymore, you know?”

Bucky looks at Steve, who can only nod. He has figured out that Bucky these days digs deep into himself when they go out on a mission, almost becomes a different person, and that the trek back can’t be easy, since fighting is all but uncomplicated for him. And still Bucky chooses to do what he does, chooses to help because he can. Even when it is difficult. Steve is so proud of him every day, and at the same time his heart breaks a little again. He wants to take Bucky’s hand, anything to make sure he understands Steve knows and it doesn’t matter, doesn’t mean they’ll be somehow affected by it. But now is not the time for gestures like that.

“Anyway,” Bucky continues, “When it doesn’t mean anything it’s simpler, because I don’t have to think about whether the other person is at some point going to trip over something they can’t handle. I like simple. I only have to trust them enough to be safe that one night, and that I can do.”

“A lot harder to trust your own heart with someone,” Steve says and Bucky acknowledges it by leaning against his shoulder a bit.

“We’re kind of an odd pair,” Bucky says after a while, and Steve chokes out a laugh, knowing exactly what he means.

The discussion has been a good one, easier than Steve suspected it would be, but at the same time it’s also made it clear that what they want just won’t fit together. But he’s still happy, he finds. He’ll get over it, and he’ll be Bucky’s friend, on the battlefield and in the city. It’s so much more than he thought he’d get for a long time.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Steve says. “And, you know, managing.”

“You said that a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, but still. It’s just good that you are. I mean, I don’t —”

Steve pauses, and Bucky tilts his head to look at him, his eyes clear and bright, as if he can see right through Steve.

“You don’t what?”

“I’m just still struggling to adjust, to all of this,” Steve admits, because maybe this conversation is a good time to come clean on a lot of things.

“I know,” Bucky says, quiet, and Steve gets the feeling he truly knows, that he understands why it’s so hard to figure out what to do with all the time and health and money when you never had those. “You’re getting better at it though. I guess you’re finally letting yourself.”

***

Unsurprisingly things get easier after Steve and Bucky have had the talk. There’s still the big secret Steve holds to his heart, but he finds it too is simpler now, with the uncertainty gone. One definite change is how Steve starts feeling more comfortable at Bucky’s. He thinks it’s slightly ridiculous that he didn’t earlier, because Bucky’s place is exactly the sort that he generally finds comfortable and homey. Earlier the uncertainty had bled into avoidance, because Bucky had very definitely chosen to live in some other place than the Tower where Steve lives. It had put the thought in the back of Steve’s head that maybe Bucky had wanted to be away from him.

It was ridiculous, and he knows better now. Bucky chose to live in Brooklyn, because he needed it to carve a life for himself, one where he didn’t feel like he was one foot in battle all the time. It didn’t mean he didn’t want to welcome Steve there. 

Now that Steve understands, and has gotten over that particular hang-up, he lingers instead of just coming to pick Bucky up. They watch the baseball World Series on Bucky’s couch, since the rest of the team isn’t too interested. They order different kinds of takeout for every game, drink different local beers, and take entirely too long to decide who they’re rooting for, since neither their favorites nor the most hated made it this year.

Miraculously there’s nothing that would require the Avengers to head out for the entire stretch.

***

Bit by bit Steve figures out things he likes to do when there’s no pressing need. He’s still busy with the Avengers, probably always will be, since they’ve finally found their place among the rest of the world’s military and intelligence organizations, but he finds time, and he finds thing to do with it.

He sets up a studio in one of the spare rooms that gets good light, changes the floor into something that won’t die if paint drops on it, and starts to figure out what he actually likes to use beyond pencils and sketch book. Painting is easy, he used to do it before the war too, but the materials now are so much better. He tries out chalks and charcoal, oil pastels and colored pencils, even the drawing tablet that appears, no doubt due to Tony wanting him to be at the cutting edge of technology. He figures out how to paint digitally and how to create different effects, then paints Iron Man in flight and has Friday set it as Tony’s wallpaper. Tony never says anything, but Friday tells Steve he didn’t take it down.

He always comes back to painting, oils and acrylics both. He paints portraits and landscapes both from memory and from life. Some he keeps, some he gives away. There’s one piece, a canvas that’s a lot wider than it is high, that Steve keeps working on. It is fairly abstract, mostly just colors with hint of shapes. He never shows it to anyone.

The painting is finished just before the holidays, and Steve knows exactly what he wants to do with it. He is a bit nervous about it, but thinks it will be taken in the spirit he means it to. On the morning of the 25th his phone buzzes early, just when he’s finishing his first cup of coffee. It’s from Bucky, and all it says is,  _ Come to the garage. _

Bucky is leaning on a Harley, and not just any Harley; one from the forties, fully restored. 

“You didn’t ride it in this weather?” Steve blurts out, even if he knows the truth.

“Of course not, what do you take me for,” Bucky snorts, and steps away, motioning at Steve to have a look. 

Steve walks around it, noting how everything is just like he remembers, and has no doubt it’ll run perfectly. “You restored this yourself,” he says, knowing it’s the truth, and adds, just because, “But isn’t our garage a bit far from your place though?”

“You’re an ass,” Bucky says and hauls him close by looping an arm around his neck. “Merry Christmas to you.”

They ride up and Steve arranges things in his studio so that the new painting is displayed by itself against one of the walls while Bucky gets coffee. When he finally sees it, Bucky just stands there for a long while staring at it, while Steve fidgets by his side, stepping on the urge to explain.

The colors shift seamlessly from left to right. First there are browns and yellows, their neighborhood from when they were children. Then there are shapes in greens and black and brown, a flash of blue here and there; the forests of Europe. The green gives way to white and all shades of blue from palest to almost black, with a hint of red here and there, maybe sunset reflecting off the Arctic ice, maybe something else. There are the grays and silvers of the modern world, reflections after reflections, fire through water. At the far right, the shapes from left are back, but the coloring is slightly different, in that it looks like the Brooklyn now, instead of almost a century earlier.

“I thought it would go well on that bare brick wall of yours,” Steve says when he finally can’t stay silent anymore, and Bucky leans on his shoulder for a moment.

“It will look great,” Bucky says and Steve doesn’t rib him about his voice wavering.

***

They’re at a bar, just the two of them for that night. They’ve been talking, listening to the music, and just relaxing, almost like they do on all of their Sunday brunches. Bucky goes to the bathroom, and a moment later there’s a man standing next to their table. Before Steve has time to even figure out what to say, the man goes straight to point.

“I just wanted to ask if you and James are a couple. I mean, I was with him once, and it was a great time so I figured I’d ask if he’d want to have another go.”

“And you’re asking me instead of him?” Steve asks, a bit incredulous, and the guy just shrugs. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah, I kind of thought so, with you being Captain America and all.”

Steve bristles at that, and also is a bit reeled by the fact that while the man recognizes him, he obviously doesn’t know Bucky. 

“Well, here he is, so I guess you can just ask him, as you should have done from the start,” Steve says as Bucky comes back. “I’ll go get a drink.”

Steve leaves, knowing that Bucky’s looking after him with a furrow between his brows. As he goes, he can’t help but notice that this man too is slim and has a dark hair. He also notices the easy confidence the man has in the way he carries himself, the kind that Steve only feels like he finds when fighting. It is a bit sad, he thinks, to only be comfortable in one’s own skin when there’s violence abound.

“Get me a scotch,” Bucky says behind his shoulder just as Steve is ready to order, and he feels all warm inside.

“Not taking up on his offer, then?” Steve asks and Bucky scoffs.

“I told you, one time only kind of things. And besides, he asked  _ you _ that? Who does that anyway?”

“Well, I could say that since you were with him before,” Steve starts and Bucky elbows him.

“Don’t start,” Bucky says, and takes their drinks.

***

The next morning Steve wakes up on the couch, Bucky’s knees digging into his back. Neither of them has managed to change out of what they wore to the bar. 

What wakes him up is Nat coming in and heading to the kitchen while calling out, “I’m borrowing your cereal, I’m all out.”

Steve sits up and runs his hand through his hair. He should head into the shower. “Yeah, go ahead, I should have plenty.”

She stops on her tracks and turns to look at him. His couch is directed so that the back is towards the door, and clearly she didn’t expect him to be there. He feels faintly satisfied at having surprised her.

“Did I wake you? Are you okay? I mean, usually you’re through your run by now.”

“Guess not. What time is it anyway?”

“Fifteen to nine,” Bucky says, not checking with any kind of time keeper, not even opening his eyes.

Steve looks to Nat just as she blinks and then comes to the couch, presumably to confirm it’s indeed Bucky.

“What even are you guys doing?” she asks, and Steve is starting to find the whole thing entirely too funny.

“Well, we figured we’d try this passing out on couch thing even if we can’t get drunk. It’s such a common pastime after going out so we figured there must be something to it,” Bucky deadpans, and Steve finally bursts out laughing.

***

Steve never needed Bucky to tell him that he’s different when he’s on mission. He always sees it, the way Bucky stills when it’s time to go, drawing something from inside himself. When it comes to action, he’s precise, efficient, ruthless when needed but always fair, always gentle with the people that need rescuing. Steve doesn’t remember this kind of a switch to battle mode from the war, and he’s starting to think it’s something Bucky developed after he disappeared from DC. It’s probably what makes it possible for him to live instead of just surviving, the clear difference in his head.

It’s something Steve is unable to do, and he sometimes wonders if that’s another part of it, another reason why he’s having such a hard time adjusting. He also wonders if it’s from the war, or even from before that. After all, he always struggled to survive, from the first breath he drew. Maybe now that he doesn’t have to it’s already too late to change.

They’ve been on the road for the past three weeks, their team stretched thin to repeal the latest plot cooked up by the remaining tendrils of HYDRA. It’s finally over, or at least things have quieted down. It feels too optimistic to assume it all is finally done, considering how resilient HYDRA has proved to be. Something that doesn’t really have a central command that runs everything is extremely difficult to weed completely out, Steve knows it.

They’re on the way home, getting a ride at the back of a military cargo plane instead of a quinjet, which means the trip will take much longer than usual. It’s just Steve and Bucky, the rest of the Avengers are currently at different corners of the world, making their way home same as they are. Steve is on comms, making sure everyone is safe and that there are no more loose threads, and Bucky is cleaning his guns. Laid out on a blanket in front of him the arsenal looks a lot bigger than one man should be able to even carry, not to mention fight with all of the weight.

They’re both done at the same time and they have a lunch of protein bars, dried fruit and candy, which mostly makes Steve just crave an actual meal. It’ll sustain them back to home at least.

Bucky is quieter than usual, even counting the post mission reeling back. Steve wonders if something might have just hit him a bit too close, made him remember something maybe. For a second Steve hesitates, and then decides that he’s done with that, and pushes the doubt away. He scoots to sit down next to Bucky and pulls him closer with a hand behind his neck. 

Bucky freezes, but it’s over so fast Steve doesn’t have time to react, and then Bucky settles leaning on his shoulder, hair tickling at Steve’s neck. They shift a bit until they’re comfortable, and then pull the blanket over them. Despite the insulation, the hold of the plane is fairly cold. They don’t talk about it, but they stay like that until they land.

The plane sets down at Francis S. Gabreski Airport, and they get a helicopter back to tower, which cuts the traveling time down for the rest of their journey. Since he talked to all of his team members while on the plane, Steve doesn’t bother looking for anyone, and instead starts heading for his own quarters.

It’s late afternoon, but Steve is still yawing. He’s barely slept for the last few weeks. 

“I really just want a shower, food and sleep around the clock,” Steve says as he punches the button to call up the elevator.

“That sounds pretty good,” Bucky agrees.

“Wanna stay? Your things are all here and we can order a stack of pizzas,” Steve says, and then immediately regrets it, because he knows this is not what Bucky does after missions.

“Sure, sounds great,” Bucky says to Steve’s surprise, and they get out of the elevator together.

Steve decides not to ask, just talks about the pizza and then calls the order in before taking a shower. He comes back to the living room just as Bucky comes from the door with the pizza boxes, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants.

One of Steve’s guest rooms is Bucky’s room in practice, since Bucky stays there fairly often; every time they’re working a lot or need to be on call at a moments notice so that commute to Brooklyn wouldn’t be practical. It means Bucky keeps enough things in the room to not need to pack if he’s coming over, and so unplanned stays are easy.

They’re halfway through their meal, both of them reclining on the couch and talking about basketball and the 1955 Ford Thunderbird that Bucky had apparently just found, in a fairly terrible condition but that he was going to restore. It’s only then that Steve realizes that at some point between their lunch on plane and dinner now Bucky managed to shed his battle awareness, and is now the Bucky that has made Brooklyn again his home. Steve doesn’t mention it, but can’t help but smile for the rest of the meal.

In the morning Bucky comes out of his room wearing running gear suitable for the late winter same as Steve, who just grins and leads the way down to street. It’s still dark, and their breath mists in the air while they loop around Central Park. The sun rises while they’re making the last round, announcing a new beautiful day.

***

Steve never believed that he’d be able to hide how he feels from Bucky forever. Hence it doesn’t really surprise him when on one Wednesday afternoon in early spring Bucky sees it.

They’re having a few days off, barring a sudden crisis, and they’ve been hanging out at Bucky’s that day, doing nothing special. They went to spar at the nearby gym in the morning, cooked lunch and then just whiled away the hours, enjoying the sun streaming through Bucky’s large windows. 

They’re sitting at the opposite ends of the couch, Bucky is reading and Steve is sketching. He’s not that stealthily drawing Bucky, who probably knows but doesn’t say anything. He’s in the process of shading the wrinkles in Bucky’s shirt and glances up for reference, except he can’t look back to his drawing again. It is one of those moments that happen, when Bucky just arrests his attention like nothing else does these days. He lets the book fall down to his lap, drawing forgotten right then, and just keeps looking.

Of course that’s when Bucky looks at him, and when the hint of question in his eyes gives way to surprise, Steve knows he’s been found out. And somehow he doesn’t even want to fidget, and he definitely doesn’t even try to hide it, not anymore.

“Steve,” Bucky asks, his book forgotten too, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“It seemed like it wouldn’t make any difference,” Steve says, because that’s what he thought. “But,” he adds, he has to, because Bucky looks at him now like he never remembers seeing Bucky look at anyone.

Bucky looks like he wants to say something, trying to figure out the words, and suddenly he laughs, bright and clear. Steve can’t help but join in, even if he has no idea what is so funny. He’s just happy suddenly.

“For someone who’s a pretty abysmal liar, you surely can hide things,” Bucky grins, and then completes the sentence Steve began. “But you were actually wrong.”

“Seems so.” 

The words come out sounding breathless, and Steve feels almost faint, dizzy with the new possibilities. They’re still sitting at the opposite ends of the couch, neither one of them has moved, and Steve stays still, because the moment isn’t quite right yet.

A frown appears on Bucky’s face right on cue, and he starts, “Steve, maybe —”

Steve doesn’t let him finish though. “Maybe we shouldn’t go there. I mean, I can see how this goes. You’re about to explain to me why we shouldn’t, probably due to whatever happened to you,” Steve says, and knows he’s right by the quirk of Bucky’s mouth, a tell decades old that has come back. “And then I’ll feel compelled to explain to you exactly why that’s horseshit and it would take an hour but I would convince you. Shut up, I would,” he says when Bucky opens his mouth, maybe to protest. “Anyway, since we already know how that would go, I can think of better things to do with that hour.”

Steve drops his sketchbook and pencils on the floor and noting his elevated pulse reaches out to Bucky. He’s fairly proud his hand doesn’t shake. Not too much, anyway.

Bucky hesitates a moment more, but then throws his book to the floor and crawls up the couch to Steve who settles down against the cushions, and pulls Bucky closer. Bucky stops when his face is hovering right over Steve’s, close enough that it’s difficult to focus on.

“Are you sure,” Bucky starts and doesn’t get any further before Steve grabs his head and pulls him into a kiss.

It’s a terrible cliche and Steve wouldn’t be caught actually saying it, but he feels like coming home after a long while. It’s easy, like most things with Bucky are, and he lets himself be swept with the sensation, concentrating on Bucky soft lips on his, the metal hand in his hair, the other resting on his cheek.

They kiss and kiss, and the minutes pass. Steve lets his lips part, inviting Bucky in, sliding their tongues against each other. The muscles on Bucky’s back stretch and coil under his hands, and he tries to touch everywhere, tries to commit into memory how that strength that makes Bucky such an efficient fighter feels like against his body. 

He also is fairly sure now that he doesn’t actually have to fear forgetting, because if he for some reason did, he could just find out again. It’s an overwhelming feeling, the sensation of the purest joy he can remember experiencing.

Finally they slow down, the kisses become lighter and less consuming. Bucky pulls back a little, but clearly has no intention of moving away from top of Steve. Truth be told Steve feels a little overwhelmed, but he reacts as he always has, diving right into it. He brushes his thumb over Bucky’s lower lip, and is about to pull him back down when Bucky speaks.

“Why were you so sure it wouldn’t be of any use to tell me?”

“We talked about it, remember? You said you liked it simple, when the people you were with didn’t know about you too much.”

Bucky rests his head on Steve’s collarbone. “Yeah, I know I said that. But it was because I thought I couldn’t have you.” He looks up again, right into Steve’s eyes, utterly sincere. “I do trust my heart with you. You got to know that.”

Steve slides his hand behind Bucky’s head and brings their foreheads together. 

“I know. But why didn’t you think I would have you, though?”

“I know you didn’t look at me like that before the war, and then after, I guess I thought it wouldn’t change either. And I was happy to be your friend, that is plenty. You didn’t think of me like that before the war, did you? Or am I completely wrong?”

“No, you’re right, I didn’t. Consciously anyway. Now, looking back, it feels a bit odd that I didn’t. It was probably that we were always so close, and when we grew up it just didn’t occur to me to try and figure out if it was any different then.”

“Guess your brain categorized me as friend don’t fuck,” Bucky grins and Steve snorts. “So what changed?”

“I think, everything? I mean all that happened and we had to figure out how we fit again, and it just happened. One day I just knew,” Steve admits and Bucky brushes his lips over Steve’s again. “What about you? Did you, before the war?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, the admission frank. “I remember things that happened pretty well, but it’s harder to gauge how I felt, if it’s how I remember or if I’m mixing how I now feel with the past. Does it matter, though?”

“No,” Steve says immediately. “It really doesn’t.”

Bucky smiles and ducks back down to kiss Steve again, firmer now, more purposeful. He runs his hand down Steve’s side, and Steve can’t help but arch his back, press closer to Bucky.

A while later, when the kissing has become hot and slippery and Steve wants to squirm under Bucky, Bucky gets him to sit up and pulls his shirt over his head. Which, now that Steve thinks about it, is absolutely a great idea, and furthermore Bucky too should lose his shirt. Bucky happily agrees, and a second later Steve is wrapping his arms around Bucky’s bare torso, the movement of muscles so much more intense without fabric in between. He nuzzles Bucky’s neck and lightly bites his collarbone, and Bucky groans. It’s the most wonderful sound Steve has heard him make yet.

Bucky pushes Steve back down against the cushions, and Steve goes easily. Bucky pauses above him, looking a bit starry eyed at him. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as beautiful.

“Look at you,” Steve breathes out, reaching to caress Bucky’s cheek and down the side of his neck.

“No, look at you,” Bucky says, and that is finally what makes Steve flush. “What’s with the look, you have to know you’re gorgeous.”

Steve wants to stutter, wants to pull Bucky down and kiss him senseless again, but he actually says, “I kind of didn’t think I was your type.”

“Didn’t think, why?”

Now Steve squirms under Bucky, a little self conscious about the discussion. “Well, everyone I saw you with, they looked —”

“Not like you? Yeah, I was already pining after you, it was better they didn’t look anything like you because then all I could have thought was that they weren’t.”

“And that wouldn’t have been helpful,” Steve says, relaxing. He finds he suddenly isn’t at all jealous of anyone that has been with Bucky, because they never had anything that really mattered beyond that moment.

Bucky bends down at the end of that, and kisses Steve on the hollow of his throat and then down the middle of his chest. He runs his hands down on either side, and Steve revels on the different feeling from the flesh hand to metal hand, both of them all Bucky.

Bucky shifts back up to kiss Steve on the lips, his leg sliding between Steve’s and suddenly it’s very obvious they’re both hard. Steve lets out a sigh at the sudden pressure.

Bucky pushed a bit closer, and then, speaking so close that his lips brush Steve’s, asks, “So, did you ever?”

“What, have sex? Yes. With a man, no.” 

“Right, we can work with that.” Bucky runs his hand again down Steve’s side. “We can take it slow, do whatever you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Steve blurts out, just like that, because he may have thought about it a time or dozen since finding out Bucky actually did go with guys.

Bucky groans, shifting his hips again, and Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling him even closer.

“Yeah, no, if it’s your first time with a man we’re not doing that. Even a supersoldier needs to be eased into it.”

Steve looks squarely at Bucky and says, “No need for a partner for that part though.”

Bucky stares at him and then lets out a laugh, drops his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Okay you totally got me now, really didn’t see that one coming.” 

He raises his head again, still grinning at Steve, perfectly happy.

Steve feels a bit smug about that one. “We’re talking again, why are we doing that? I thought we agreed that we had better things to do.”

“Are you kidding me, this is the best discussion ever,” Bucky laughs, and Steve mock pouts at him. “You’re killing me, Steve. Come on.”

Bucky pulls him up and Steve scrambles after him to the bedroom. They both get rid of the rest of their clothes on the way and fall into bed naked, immediately wrapping around each other. Skin on skin the pressure is even better, and Steve nearly forgets he wanted anything other than to lay there sliding against Bucky, every inch of their bodies touching. 

Finally Bucky pushes him onto his back and straddles his thighs, taking his cock in hand and stroking lightly, running his thumb over its head. Again it’s so much better than Steve’s own hand, and he’s in no time pushing and straining against Bucky’s hand.

“Look at you,” Bucky says again. “I’m half in mind to just keeping you there and riding you.”

It’s an amazing idea, and Steve wants to do it too, but not right then. “You said I could have whatever I wanted,” he manages to gasp.

Bucky leans forward to kiss him again, and Steve takes the opportunity to slide his hands over Bucky’s back and ass, down his thighs and up again, and then take his cock in hand.

“So I said,” Bucky agrees, breath hitching as Steve grips a bit firmer, and pushes Steve down at his shoulders. “Let me take care of you.”

It’s a phrase that for most of his life has made Steve bristle, but here and now, he doesn’t mind it at all. He can do it, he can let go for a bit and let Bucky do this for him. There will be plenty of chances for him to do the same for Bucky.

Bucky takes about forever opening him up, sliding slick fingers in and out of him. Steve grasps the sheets and tries to keep his wits on him, tries to no black out with the pleasure. He wants to remember every second of this. Finally he can’t take it any more and tugs at Bucky, who thankfully obeys and settles between Steve’s legs and pushes in.

It is as if all of Steve’s senses are on overdrive, and all he can feel is Bucky, inside him and over him. He hears every hitch of breath, every groan and every word Bucky lets out. There is nothing else, nothing that matters right then other than Bucky, and the way they’re touching. Steve runs his hands over Bucky’s back, the movement of the now familiar muscles more hectic under his fingers, and he digs in, pulling Bucky closer and urging him to move faster, harder.

It doesn’t fully register when Bucky slips his hand between them and again grasps Steve’s cock in his hand, because by then Steve is a mess of feeling, and every bit of his skin is like an exposed nerve.

He comes gasping out Bucky’s name and contracting around him, and Bucky rolls his hips a few more times before burying his face against Steve’s neck, tensing and then falling relaxed on him.

It doesn’t take long at all for them to slow down their breathing, but Steve is still left reeling. He’s landed in a place that he can only call contentment and he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want Bucky to move. He buries his fingers in Bucky’s hair and listens to Bucky whisper things into his skin, words that don’t mean anything and yet Bucky whispering them means everything.

The last rays of the spring day sun fall in the room, and Steve is happier than he ever has been.

***

Steve thinks it’s growing up sick that has made him fairly well aware of a lot of things, one of them being that when something good happens it doesn’t mean that everything else will just be magically fixed. Which is a bit ironic, considering the process with the serum pretty much magically did fix a lot of things. But even then, not everything had been fixed, and he’d gotten a host of new problems.

This time, things are much better. Now he’s got a new good thing, the best thing really, and there are no new problems. There’s no need to figure out how they fit together because they already have done it, there’s just a new dimension to what they are. 

Things are the same as ever on the field too. They’re still there together, watching each other’s back, trusting the other to have it. Nothing changes because it’s not like they love each other any more than they already did, despite now having made it explicitly clear what it really means, to both themselves and to each other.

And after they come home it’s so much easier to find their peaceful equilibrium once more.

It’s good, but it’s not perfect, and Steve didn’t expect it to be either. They both still struggle with the things they used to; the memories, the nightmares. Steve is still in the process of figuring out what it means to live here in the time that maybe doesn’t feel so much like the future anymore. Slowly and surely it’s becoming his own time.

It’s not perfect, but it’s easier, and that means everything.

***

It’s another Sunday and they’re having another one of their brunch dates. That’s what they have been all along, now Steve can admit it to himself. Sometimes things really are what they look like. 

Steve sits there, looking at Bucky who looks back at him with a smile and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. They laugh at private jokes, eat from each other’s plates and tangle their legs under the tiny table. To a casual onlooker it probably doesn’t look that different at all from how they were half a year ago.

Maybe that should have been Steve’s clue, but he’s not too disappointed to not have realized sooner. After all, they have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [tumblr](http://stellahibernis.tumblr.com/).


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